A Childhood Without A `Swindler`

March 31, 1985|By Panagiota Tsoutsouris .

When I was about 6, I envied paper boys at each corner yelling ``Extra.`` Papers sold for 2 cents and they made money. I wanted to make money. How to get papers? In the basement where my father ran a small shoeshine stand I found a bonanza--lots of old newspapers.

I put them under my arm, stood on a corner in Main Street and shouted,

``Extra``. I did a brisk business until the cop on the beat grabbed me by the ear and took me to my father. ``Better watch this girl,`` he said. ``She will turn out to be a swindler.``

My father thanked him, and being new to this country, did not know the word ``swindler.`` He thought it was a bright future for me. After all, didn`t the cop who wore a uniform--a representative of this great nation--know it all?

I basked in this new found glory. When the teachers asked us, one by one, what we wanted to be when we grew up, the boys answered fireman, policeman, etc. The girls said teacher, nurse, mommy. When my turn came I answered, smugly, ``Swindler.``

Needless to say, I was marched to the principal`s office. Another dent in the age of innocence--no tooth fairy, no Santa Claus and now, no swindler. Ah, life is hard!